Little Bird was happy for her sister, happy that her white husband had returned to her, but then her thoughts turned bitter as she remembered the other white man in her life, the one who would never return. She wondered what he was doing now. Was he in Stromness with the other woman? Had he told her about her son’s death and that he had left his family for her? Did he think of his family and what his leaving had done to them? Did he think of his country wife?
* * *
“Come on, men,” the Factor yelled, as he waddled his way down to the shore. “This is no time to be standing around. Get these furs unloaded.”
Thomas listlessly followed the other men to the canoes where he automatically picked up a bundle of furs. He did not feel like working; he only wanted to get away by himself and mourn his brother. As Thomas walked by the Factor and the Indian who seemed to be in charge, he heard Smith say.
“How did the trading go, Edward? Did you get the better furs as you hoped?”
Thomas spun around, his heart pounding. He watched the two men walk away. The Factor had his left arm as far around the man’s shoulders as he could reach and waved his right as he talked. The man he called Edward was tall, muscular, and had long, braided hair with a feather in it. He was dressed in skin pants and moccasins, and like the other Indians, had no shirt. But Thomas began to notice a difference he had not seen before. The long hair was not as black as the other Indians, and while his skin was dark, it did not have the same reddish tinge. And down from the Factor’s arm, Thomas could make out the scar on Edward’s side from when he fell off a wagon at the age of ten.
Just as Thomas recognized the scar, Edward turned and looked at him.
“He says he is your brother Thomas,” he heard the Factor say.
Thomas felt a great relief and joy. Edward was not dead. He wanted to run up and hug him, but felt awkward after four years apart. Thomas put down his bundle of furs and walked over to Edward. He was now as tall as his older brother but not nearly as broad. They faced each other, not knowing what to say.
“Well, I wondered if you would ever show up here,” Edward finally said, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him close.
“I came as soon as Father would let me, Edward.” Thomas hugged him back, both embarrassed and pleased with his brother’s gesture.
“Call me White Paddler. That’s my Indian name.”
“White Paddler,” Thomas repeated. “It has a nice sound to it.”
“How is everyone back home?”
“They are fine.” Thomas thought about all the news he had to tell. “Although Mother always wondered why you did not write?”
“What was there to say?”
“Well, you could have let Mother and Father know you were still alive.”
Edward shrugged. “I tried, but I am not much of a letter writer.”
“Get a move on, Thomas,” Mr. Manchester shouted. “There is work to be done and winter is coming.”
“We will talk later,” White Paddler said. “I want to find out more about our family.”
Thomas walked back to his bundle of furs and hoisted it on his shoulder. There was lots to tell Edward, uh, White Paddler, but there was also plenty of time to tell it.
* * *
Little Fawn watched White Paddler go up to the boy who had introduced himself as Thomas to her and hug him. She had been right. He was White Paddler’s brother. Would he be bringing White Paddler news of his family and would that news make White Paddler want to return to his homeland? She had seen other men leave after receiving a letter about a family illness, or a death or because, after reading the letter, they just missed their white family. And White Paddler’s five years would be up when the supply ship arrived next year.
Little Bird saw Spotted Fawn also watching White Paddler and his brother. Was she thinking the same thing? Was she scared that White Paddler would leave her next summer? Little Bird glanced over at her grandmother. Patient Woman had grown old in the short time since her husband left. She was a stooped, spiritless woman where once she had been a straight-backed, proud one. She had lost the will to live now that she did not have the yearly visits to look forward to.
Little Bird hated her grandfather, hated him for saying he was not coming back, hated him for taking away her best friend.
* * *
When the furs had been unloaded, the feast was prepared. Fires were lit on the sand by the river and geese and ducks roasted on the coals. Cheeses were sliced, biscuits made, and brandy and wine poured.
After the meal, wood was laid on the coals until huge bon fires blazed along the shore. The fiddle was brought out and the dance began. White Paddler squatted near one fire and told tales of his trip inland. A group of men, including Thomas, sat around him eagerly listening to his stories.
“There were so many rivers and lakes. We paddled on the same river for days. We reached rapids which we had to portage around, and then we paddled for days more. When we came to a lake, we followed the shore until we arrived at a river flowing into it and then paddled up it. There were plenty of deer, and bear, and moose, and they stood on the banks of the river and watched us go by.”
“You did not get lost?” one man asked and the others laughed.
White Paddler grinned. “No, even though I had a guide this time, I remembered the rivers from last year. I could go inland myself without a guide now.”
Thomas could see that his brother was very popular. The men hung on his every word.
“Did you see the Frenchmen?”
White Paddler nodded. “Yes, they are still taking the trade to the Indians. They have seven forts now.”
“They have not tired of canoeing all that distance from Fort William, or Montreal?”
“It is worth it to them to get the best furs,” White Paddler said. “I just wish I could convince the Company it has to do the same.
“Are you going again next year?”
“If the Factor will let me. There is so much land to explore, so much to see.”
Thomas listened and felt an urge to see the land his brother described. Maybe he could go inland with him next year.
“Now I want to dance with my wife,” White Paddler said.
His wife? White Paddler was married to that Indian woman? Thomas wished he and his brother could sit down now and talk. He could see White Paddler had much news to tell him about his life here and he wanted to hear it all.
* * *
“You mean there is still a farm?” White Paddler asked. “The way it was producing when I left I thought all of you would have starved by now.”
He and Thomas were walking along the shore of the bay. It was windy and cold, but it gave them some privacy.
“Yes, there is still a farm,” Thomas answered. “Stuart has been working hard on it.”
“And well he should,” White Paddler said. “It will be his someday.”
They walked in silence. “How are Mother and Father?” White Paddler asked.
Thomas hesitated before saying. “Mother is fine, but Father is sickly.”
Edward nodded. “He is getting old. And little...?” White Paddler was at a loss for the name.
“Bruce. He is twelve.”
“Just about the same age as you were when I left. Does he want to come here, too?”
“He talked as if he did when I was leaving.”
“I remember how much you wanted to come. You even wanted to stowaway.”
“It seemed like such a long time until I would turn sixteen. I am just glad Father decided to let me go at fifteen,” Thomas said.
“And Isabel and Molly? They must be married by now.”
“Molly is, and she is going to have a baby. And Stuart got married this summer.”
“To whom?”
“To Emily Isbister.”
White Paddler whistled. “That is a surprise. A Gunn marrying an Isbister. The farm must be doing very well if old man Isbister let his daughter marry one of us.”
“It is one of the best on the i
slands now.”
“That is good.”
“Mother hopes you might go back when your five year service is up,” Thomas said, quietly.
“I do not think there is anything for me to go back for.”
* * *
Just before freeze-up every available man was put to work fishing for arctic char. Henry and Francis helped with the nets, while Thomas was assigned to the cleaning crew. When the first net was brought in, the fish were thrown in barrels and carried up the bank to the men waiting at the makeshift tables. Thomas had been raised on a farm and had spent little time on the sea. He stared at the fish with their green backs and coral bellies flopping in the barrel. His fish cleaning ability was negligible. He watched as the men quickly began their work. Most of them were so skilled that Thomas could not keep up with what they were doing.
“Like this,” Jarvis said. He picked up one of the fish and cut off the head, tail, and fins, with his knife. He then split the fish up the back, and deftly removed the bones. He pulled out the insides and threw them in a pile with the others. The meat and skin of the belly was left intact. He walked over to the washing barrel, with Thomas following, and washed the fish inside and out. He then set it on a pole rack in the shade to drain.
“Are we just going to leave them here?” Thomas asked.
“Just until evening.”
“Then what happens to them?”
“They will be opened and layered in a metal tub, skin side down, and each layer will be sprinkled with salt.”
Thomas grimaced. “More salted food? I have been living on salted food for months now, ever since I left home.”
“Get used to it. We have been eating salt pork, salt fish, and salt geese, for years.”
Thomas sighed. “So what happens next?”
“The tub will be left in a cool place for ten days, and then the fish will be transferred to a cask. After the lid is put on the cask, the juice from the tubs will be poured over the fish through the bung hole. The cook tops up the cask for ten days with the pickle then puts the stopper in. The fish keep for most of the winter.”
Thomas picked up a fish. It flopped and squirmed and he had a hard time holding it down on the table while he cut off the head. The tail was easy, but the fins gave him some trouble. He watched Jarvis again to see how to slit the back and remove the bones.
“Make sure you get them all,” Jarvis warned. “The men do not take kindly to fish bones in their food.”
Thomas went deep with his knife, digging for the bones, totally mutilating the fish. The men around him laughed at his efforts and some gave advice.
“Pull back the flesh from the bone and cut it off, instead of digging the bone out.”
“Lay the fish on its side like this.”
Once the bones were out, Thomas pulled the intestines and threw them on the growing pile. He then washed the fish and laid it out to drain with the others. His looked in sad shape compared to them.
“We will remember which one is yours,” Jarvis said. “And when it is cooked, we will make sure it is served on your plate.”
Thomas’ next efforts were better, and by the end of the day he had mastered the craft of fish cleaning. After the evening meal of fresh fish, he sat leaning against the fort, watching the next shift pick up the fish and begin layering them in tubs. Luke sat down beside him.
“It is a lot of work to get ready for winter,” Thomas said.
“Enjoy it while you can,” Luke replied. “The winters are long and cold, and there is not much to do except eat and try to keep warm.”
The fishing lasted until all the tubs were filled and stored.
“Well,” Jarvis said, on the last day. “We are ready for winter. The wood pile is well stocked and the food preserved. Who wants to bet on the day the river freezes over?”
Chapter 17
Thomas found White Paddler sitting on the bank of the river. He dropped to the frozen ground beside him, hugging his great coat to him to keep out the cold. “You look troubled.”
White Paddler smiled at him. “You know, I was happy until you came.”
“Well, that makes me feel good. What is the matter?”
“I guess I am feeling a little homesick.”
“You have been gone a long time. It is natural to feel that way after hearing news about the family.”
“But I thought I was over it after the first year. I thought this was my life.”
“Tell me about your life here. From what I have seen so far you have done well.”
“It was not easy to begin with, but no harder than for any new recruit. Like you, I was a laborer. I chopped wood, fed the animals, worked the garden, fished, hunted, loaded and unloaded the supply ships, helped construct new buildings. I did everything a company servant is supposed to do. I also learned the Indian way of life.
“I speak their language. I can hunt with a bow and arrow, stalking the animal silently through the bush. I have danced around a campfire acting out my pursuit and kill in front of the other hunters. I wear just the lightest of clothing in cold weather and I have mastered the canoe, becoming as adept as the natives at steering it up and down river.”
“Is that why they call you White Paddler?” Thomas asked.
“Yes.”
“When I married Spotted Fawn,” White Paddler continued. “I moved to the Indian village instead of moving her to the married men’s quarters. I am now looking after her grandmother, mother and sister.”
“Why did you go inland?” Thomas wondered how his brother had been picked to be the only white man on the trip.
“From the beginning the Company has kept the policy of staying on the Hudson’s Bay shore and letting the Indians make the long journey from the west with their furs. But the French, our competitors, began travelling to meet with the Indians who had normally traded here. The Indians would then trade their best furs with the Frenchmen and bring the second grade ones to the bay. Some Indians liked the idea of the white man coming to them and stopped making the trip altogether, so in the 1740s, the Company began to change its policy. It set up a post called Henley House west of Fort Albany. From what I hear, it is small and is supposed to be a defense post, not a trading post. The Company also approved some inland trading.
“For over a year I tried to persuade Factor Smith to send some canoes inland to trade with the Indians. Last year he finally agreed, and because of my knowledge of the Indian language and way of life, he sent me.”
“It sounds like a wonderful place.”
“It is. On my first trip I could not believe the expanse of the land. It was far bigger than I expected with wide open spaces, thick forests, and many rivers and lakes. And from what the Indians say, there is much more land farther west than where I went.”
“What about the Indian people you traded with?”
“They are friendly. I lived in their camps, hunted with them, and sat around their campfires listening to their legends. As I was returning I thought about moving inland and becoming a free trader when my service is up.”
“And now?”
“Now I am not sure. I have barely thought about the family in the past two years. Actually I do not even think of Stromness as home any more, and yet since I have talked to you all that has changed. I want to see Mother again, and Father before he dies.”
Thomas was silent. He knew exactly what White Paddler was going through. He still had attacks of homesickness.
“I have enough money from my years here to buy a farm near Stromness,” White Paddler said.
“Would you be happy on a farm?”
“I do not know.”
Before Thomas could say anything more White Paddler’s wife walked up to them. They both scrambled to their feet. White Paddler put his arm around her.
“Thomas, I would like you to meet Spotted Fawn.”
“My sister and I thought you looked familiar when you arrived,” Spotted Fawn said, with a smile.
So Little Bird was the sister of Whit
e Paddler’s wife’s. Thomas had not seen her since he delivered the barrels of rotten meat to the village.
“You two look like you are having a serious discussion,” Spotted Fawn said.
“We were talking about my family in Stromness.”
“And now you miss them.”
“Yes.”
Thomas saw Spotted Fawn’s eyes cloud over. He wondered if she was worried about what that would do to their marriage.
* * *
One unusually warm Sunday when the sun shone bright in the southern sky most of the men from the post sat outside on the wooden sidewalk enjoying the feeble warmth. In spite of the heavy clouds that had passed over them on two occasions, there had been no snow yet.
“Are the winters really as bad as everyone says?” Thomas asked Jarvis.
“Worse. Some winters we have had snow up to the roof. Others have been so cold that the mercury in the thermometer freezes solid.”
“Oh, I do not believe that,” Henry scoffed.
“You will just have to wait and see, then,” Luke said.
“What do you do all winter?”
“Eat and play cards.”
“And haul wood,” Jarvis said. “If our supply gets low then we have to go and chop down some trees.”
“How do they do that when the snow is up to the roof?” Francis asked, with a grin.
“We have to keep paths opened and make sure the wood pile is kept topped up at all times. If we do not, we will all freeze.”
Suddenly there came a shrieking and hollering from up river. It was an eerie sound that made Thomas’ skin crawl. The boys looked at each other and then at the older men.
“That is the Indians hunting caribou,” Luke explained. “Come. We will go watch for a while and you will see something you have never seen before.”
Everyone who heard the noise had the same idea and they hurried upstream from the fort. They walked on the bank above the river, climbing over rocks and through the short brush which hampered their movement. The yelling grew louder as they approached, and soon they could see Indian women and children on the opposite shore. They were screaming and waving their arms, their shrieking was matched by the women and children on the shoreline just under the men. In the middle of the river was a herd of caribou. They had been forced into the water by one group of women, and kept there by both.
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